


Into the Wild

by je_suis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beltane, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Jon Snow is a Stark, Jon is a Disaster Gay, M/M, Neo-Paganism, Stargazing, The Starks are Modern Pagans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 04:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20718311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/je_suis/pseuds/je_suis
Summary: As breathtaking as constellations are, Jon can only focus on the twinkle in Tormund's eyes. But, what bubbles in his chest, threatening to spill is stuck behind a torrent of what-ifs and half formed sentences.Maybe, he thinks,just maybe words aren't what he needs right now.





	Into the Wild

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, the title is from a really great song by LP, called "Into the Wild," highly recommend it, it is a very Jonmund-y song.
> 
> Please enjoy my un'beta'd floof!

His ass hurts so much from sitting on the stump for so long, that Jon shifts every minute to stop the numbness from spreading to his thighs. Before him, the road was quiet, but the rustling trees of the forest at his back sound like crashing waves. But with the cool breeze slipping under his jacket, the sounds only grate on already frayed nerves. 

He begins to regret leaving with what he had on, an itch to dig out one of his jackets from his bag tempting. A shiver crawls up his arms, snaking its way to the hairs at his neck. The private drive to Winterfell is dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps along the main road. Cars rarely venture down this part of the countryside, but he had hoped to hitch a ride back to the bus station.

Headlights crest over the hill, blinding him as the truck comes ever closer. Jon squints at the high beams burning his retinas until he recognizes the dent in the hood, and the telltale glow of a cigarette in the cabin. The driver's side window rolls down with the gruff hum that Jon warmly recognizes. 

"You just gonna sit there like some idiot, or are ya' gettin' in?" Tormund asks, flicking the cigarillo into a puddle. 

"The fuck are you doing here?" 

Even with the car lights in his eyes, Jon can feel Tormund rolling his eyes. Sighing, he throws his bags over a shoulder, a grunt as the weight twists his arm as he walks up to the open window. 

Tor drums his fingers on the wheel, giving Jon his best unimpressed face, "Throw your shit in the boot."

Doing as told, it's easy enough to place his belongings in the back. Jon climbs into the junker with a huff, closing the door to keep the heat inside. They pick up speed when Tormund turns around, leaving the estate behind them.

The sights outside the passenger window are stellar. A full moon on the first of May seemed like a blessing, but now, it's an unblinking eye watching him wander. But when Tormund began to sing to the radio under his breath, making Jon temper a smile of his own, he thinks it might not be so bad.

Especially the way the worn leather feels like a second home, as he shuffles around in the seat. Jon has sat in this truck more times than he can remember. Stored deep between strained stitching, memories of late night food runs and one too many bar fights settle. Jon digs his fingers into the smoothed patches, chasing away the last of the chill from his numb digits. 

"Won't you be missed tomorrow morning?"

His good mood crumbles in a flash, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "I said goodbye, just couldn't stay another night."

"Anything to do with you cursing Catelyn to hell in your texts, or was I jumping to conclusions coming out here?"

"Just got into it with my stepmum."

"And she kicked you out?"

"Kicked myself out really," Jon mumbles, pulling his long shirt from the sleeves of his jean jacket. 

Tormund shrugs, singing to the playlist, and he finds himself settling deeper into the rhythm of Tor's voice. Everything is so calm, the rumbling engine a purr in the background as well as the vibrating in his feet. It's almost like a dream.

Thoughts of earlier in the night arise, and he cringes. It was a normal holiday: dinner, celebration, gathering by the fireside. Somehow along the way, a pin had dropped to tip the scale to chaos. Maybe it was because his father had to leave early for a trip, or Jon particularly missed his mum on nights like these, but a pleasant evening had faded to bitterness. 

"Cat always gets tense celebrating Beltane," Jon comments more to himself. "Anything on the Wheel* really."

"Still find it hilarious that your father married an Anglican," Tormund laughs, "How does that even work? Do you celebrate Christmas and then split a Yule Log?"

Jon aims his punch for the meat of Tormund's shoulder, "It's not like we were yelling over fucking food, you arse."

Groaning more than a handful of curses, Tormund swerves to the side of the road. The side road is one Jon doesn't recognize, but soon the scene shifts. Dense forest lending to an open pasture. Jon pouts when the sweeping colors still as they park. The foliage becomes all too clear, ghostly in the moonlight.

"So, what actually happened?" 

He shifts, unable to find comfort as he readies his words, "I was just thinking about my mum, and it set off a line of shit that ruined the night."

"She can't blame you for missing her."

"I don't really want to talk about this, Tor."

Tormund nods, "Okay then, get out."

"What? Why?"

"'Cause you're broodin' up a storm, and you need to air like the damn laundry."

Rolling his eyes, Jon shoulders out, complaining with every step. He's near ready to slam the door shut when he hears the truck's ignition die, and Tormund's feet land on gravel. 

Jon trembles in the cold, watching the way Tormund rearranges the bed of the truck. A flurry of fabrics, and the clunk of things hitting metal, have him confused with the ruckus. But Tormund pulls himself in, a groan as he shifts around in his little setup. Getting the hint, Jon climbs in surprised by the sea of blankets, and biscuits, and a thermos of what he hopes is tea.

Tormund has already laid back, pillowing his head with his arm, a chocolate cookie between his lips. Extra blankets and torches are a disarray around him, but Jon can't help but think it suits them. Messy but comfortable.

"Clearest night we've had in ages," Tor says, looking towards the sky with a grin on his lips. 

"Too bad we haven't got the telescope," Jon says for lack of anything better. The tea he sips at soothes the nerves as it warms him from the inside out. 

Kicking off his boots, Jon grabs a blanket and worms into the empty space next to a packet of Oreos and a few Rolos. The weighty material of the wool is heavenly, and he throws the extra bit over Tormund as he lies back. 

This isn't their first time stargazing. Far from it, yet settling down next to the reassuring warmth that is his best friend, Jon knows the emotion spreading to every vein and capillary of his body. He's in danger of digging himself so far down in it, he won't be able to climb out. Every time Jon was lost, he found himself again in the back of Tormund's pickup, focused entirely too much on smiles brighter than the sun, and missing out on each shooting star. 

Months of watching but never touching. He's not entirely sure if he's supposed to be looking at the cosmos, or focusing on the brush of their knuckles. As breathtaking as constellations are, Jon can only focus on the twinkle in Tormund's eyes. But, what bubbles in his chest, threatening to spill is stuck behind a torrent of what-ifs and half formed sentences. 

_Maybe_, he thinks, _just maybe, words aren't what he needs right now_.

So, Jon turns his gaze to the void, feeling an uptick in his heartbeat. The answers might be somewhere deep in Alpha Centauri, or lost in an asteroid belt light years away. _What good that does him in a moment like this_. Instead he wraps his pinky around Tormund's thumb, slowly working the rest of his fingers in to settle their palms together. 

His next breath is unsteady, crippled with doubt, but the next is a sweet release when Jon receives a squeeze in response. 

"Took you long enough, you absolute tease."

The heat flooding his cheeks overwhelms him, and Jon sputters unsure of what to do. All he knows is his hand isn't being pushed away, and how right it feels for the calloused fingers to run over his knuckles. 

From the corner of his eye, Jon watches Tormund shift sideways, bringing their hands to his chest. It's oddly intimate, and he just about short circuits. 

"Any reason you chose tonight?" Tor asks.

Jon shrugs, "You didn't have to come, hadn't even asked you to, but you're here anyway."

Echoing from the windswept grass fades in favor of blood rushing, when Jon feels the brush of lips against his own. His eyes snap shut, and he gives into the pull of sensation. His tea is forgotten, because the rough grind of a beard against his own acts as the best distraction. Pulling apart, Jon is breathless, struggling for air and waiting for the dream to come to a still.

"Wait, why?"

Tormund smiles, leaning over him again just to look him in the eye and block the view of Coma Berenices, "Felt right."

They shuffle around, awkward on the ribbed paneling, until they are a mess of blankets and overlapping limbs. This isn't the first time Jon has rested his head on Tor's arm, but it feels different. Especially with the fingers tracing up and down Jon's arm, as the redhead's chest vibrates with the song he sings.

It _is_ different, and Jon grins.

**Author's Note:**

> *refers to the Wheel of the Year.
> 
> Handholding is a lot for one small boi, kissing may cause system failure and confusion. 
> 
> Follow me on [_tumblr_](https://capitaaan.tumblr.com/)? Maybe send a prompt, idk, get jiggy with it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
